…ain’t no drinking when the bottle’s dry…

[Jason Isbell]I really can’t say enough about the tracks that I’ve heard off of Jason Isbell’s new album Seven Mile Island, due Feb 17th. There IS something to be said about straight up honest songwriting, intelligent and inventive musicianship and a road-tested pace that would make any fan of Southern-tinged alt. country tap their foot and bob their head.

In fact, Isbell and his band, the 400 Unit have earned their road stripes. They’ve criss-crossed the States following the release of Sirens of the Ditch, having played over 200 shows in just over a year. Judging by the schedule of things to come, that count is gonna skyrocket. I know that I’m catching them in Boston. I’m not missing that.

Preordered ticket holders also get a one-year subscription to PASTE Magazine, which is pretty fucking cool. Not much comes for free anymore, so hook it up. If you order, and don’t want the subscription, hit me up in the comments (mine just ran out)

Welcome

I can’t pinpoint what exactly drives us, as humans, to adore the arts. Especially music. There’s something specific, in music, that scratches a little tiny itch in my brain. I think Kerouac put it best, in a conversation from ‘On The Road’.

Dean cries: “Here’s a guy and everybody’s there, right? Up to him to put down what’s on everybody’s mind. He starts the first chorus, then lines up his ideas, people, yeah, yeah, but get it. And then he rises to his fate and has to blow equal to it. All of a sudden, somewhere in the middle of the chorus he gets it . . . Time stops. He’s filling empty space with the substance of our lives, confessions of his belly bottom strain, remembrance of ideas, rehashes of old blowing.”

This is my attempt to spread that cure. That ‘IT’. It’s a feeble attempt, but I hope you all enjoy.